The rain hadn’t stopped all evening, Cars roared through puddles, neon lights bled into wet asphalt, and somewhere in the hum of traffic, Bus 47 pulled into the stop .
Aarohi climbed aboard the cold clinging to her like second skin. The bus smelled faintly of damp fabric and something citrusy like someone’s aftershave, sharp and clean. She scanned the rows instinctively her heart skipping when her eyes found him.
Same spot. Back corner. Hoodie today was beige, soft and loose around the shoulders, the drawstrings falling unevenly down his chest. His hair was drier this time but a few strands still curled rebelliously at his forehead, catching the dim light above.
He was scrolling his phone again, one elbow propped on the seat edge, thumb moving lazily across the screen.
Aarohi hesitated for a second too long, blocking the aisle until someone behind her muttered. She moved forward quickly, pretending to look for a seat even though she’d already decided.
The spot next to him was free.
“Hey,” she said softly as she slid in.
He looked up, and for a moment the corners of his mouth curved not the polite smile people throw out of habit, but something warmer. “Hey Thought you’d skip today.”
Her brows lifted. “Why?”
“You’re late" he said simply.
She chuckled under her breath. “Work kept me. My boss has this magical ability to remember things at the last second.”
He grinned
The expression tugging one corner of his mouth higher than the other. “Sounds familiar.”
The bus moved forward, pulling them into a rhythm of soft jolts. Aarohi adjusted her tote on her lap sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. There was something disarming about how easily he occupied space without demanding attention. No loud gestures. No unnecessary words. Just calm, like he was built for quiet moments.
“Long day?” he asked after a beat his tone casual but not empty.
She nodded blowing out a breath. “Deadlines. Edits. Clients who don’t know what they want but know exactly what they don’t.”
His lips curved faintly. “Sounds… oddly familiar again.”
“You too?” she guessed.
“Copy for an energy drink” he said dryly. “They want it to sound bold but not aggressive, playful but not immature, fun but not cheap. Basically they want it to be everything and nothing.”
She laughed, the sound slipping out before she could stop it. It earned her a brief look from the guy standing near them but she didn’t care. “Wow. You have my sympathy.”
They fell into a quiet that wasn’t awkward. Just soft, like a blanket pulled snug against the cold. Outside, the rain drummed on, streaking the glass with crooked silver lines.
Aarohi stole another glance at him at the way his lashes dipped when he looked down at his phone, at the faint crease between his brows like he was thinking too much for someone riding a bus.
And then his phone buzzed. Again.
That same tight pull in her stomach returned. She tried not to look. Tried to keep her gaze fixed on the blurred city outside. But she couldn’t help catching the glow out of the corner of her eye. A name flashed on the screen. She didn’t read it fully before he tilted the phone slightly thumb tapping quick responses.
He smiled. Not wide. Just enough to twist the knife in her chest.
God, why did it sting? It shouldn’t. He wasn’t hers. They weren’t… anything.
“You okay?” His voice startled her.
Aarohi blinked and turned forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied her for a second, like he didn’t quite believe her, then nodded slowly. “You should rest more.”
She let out a short laugh. “You sound like my mom.”
“Smart woman then” he said easily eyes flicking back to the window.
Something about the way he said it so soft, almost absent-minded—lodged itself in her chest.
The bus swayed, and her shoulder brushed against his arm. Just a fleeting touch, but enough to send a ripple down her spine. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.
For the rest of the ride, they sat like that inches apart, breaths syncing with the hum of the engine,both pretending not to notice how close they were.
When her stop arrived, she stood reluctantly the space between them breaking like a snapped thread. She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave him a smile that felt smaller than it should have.
“See you” she said.
“You will,” he replied, steady as ever.
But as she stepped into the rainy night, her thoughts weren’t steady at all. They were a storm of questions, of what-ifs, of a truth she wasn’t ready to name yet.
Because tonight, one thing had become painfully clear.
She wanted to matter to him.
And she was terrified that maybe she didn’t.
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